


The King's Favour

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bargaining, Demons, Gen, iron age Israel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-28
Updated: 2004-03-28
Packaged: 2020-05-15 11:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19294423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer





	The King's Favour

She was brought to the palace by soldiers. They dragged her from her house, barely giving her enough time to cover her head. The king did not speak to her, past telling her to pour some wine. In vain she protested that she was married, that her husband was an officer in the king's army. The king did not seem to hear her words, and she was too frightened to say 'no.'

In the evening she was shown to a discreet door by one of the king's servants. He pressed a small purse into her hand. When she realised what it was she threw it at his feet and spat on the floor. The courtier looked at the purse and her spittle and nodded his head.

'You have suffered insult, Daughter of Israel,' he said. 'My heart is heavy for adding to it.'

'My husband,' she said, stung by his formal speech and the laughter in his eyes, 'My husband --'

'Can do nothing. Will he lay charge against the king? Go to your house in peace, my daughter.'

She pulled her veil over her face. All the neighbours had seen her taken from the house. She could not face them, she could not face her husband, should he return from war. She wanted nothing more than to go home and wash till she forgot the touch of the king's hands on her body, but she was afraid to be seen in public.

'You cannot stay,' the man said quietly, no longer laughing at her. 'You must go to your house. It grows late.'

She looked at him in silent appeal. He could send some of the maidservants with her to keep her safe, to stop men looking at he, out alone in the streets. She bowed down to the ground, meaning to beg.

'Sir, help me,' she said, 'how can I carry my shame?'

He sighed and stepped back. She clutched his ankles, her fingers digging into his cool skin. She could feel him looking down at her, and scurried backwards, frightened that she had touched an unknown man, one who knew what had happened, who knew she had no means of defence. He bent down and helped her up, the evening light throwing strange shadows on his thin face.

'Your injury can only be wiped away if your husband commits treason, or if the king makes you his wife. Perhaps a quiet divorce could be arranged. You would not have to live with your neighbours' accusing faces watching you,' he said. 'You are a sensible woman. What would you give me to speak quietly of these matters, to make it come to a quiet and respectable ending?'

'I have nothing to give,' she said, frightened. 'I have no money, and my honour has been taken from me. Please, sir, do not harm me.'

'I don't want your body,' he said, looking in her eyes. He smiled at her, making her shudder. 'You have conceived this day,' he said.

She tore her veil and beat her breast in horror, and he caught at her hands.

'Stop,' he said. 'I will arrange things. You will be honoured again. I want the child.'

She looked at him in amazement, and he gently pulled her veil back into place.

'You will be a free woman, no one will shame you, I will take the child when it is born, you will be respectably taken into the king's household. Do you agree?'

'Why?' she asked. 'Why would you do this for me?'

'You asked for my help,' he said, shrugging. 'I need a child, you will have one you do not want. It will all work out.'

'Yes,' she said fiercely, 'I agree. Do as you have said.'

He smiled again, a thin unpleasant smile. 'A pleasure doing business,' he said triumphantly, and clapped his hands. A plainly dressed woman hurried up. 'Escort the lady Bathsheba to her house, and stay with her tonight,' he said, sketched a bow to her and was gone.

Bathsheba stepped out into the Jerusalem dusk. She did not trust the king's servant, and yet what was left of her honour was in his care. Pulling her torn veil tightly across her face she set out for the house that was no longer her home and refuge.


End file.
